TDM 001 ● JUNE 2025

[uruz]

TDM: ONE

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PRELUDE

(content warnings: dream horror, loss of autonomy, mild body horror, cult undertones )


You’ve had this dream before.

A moon cracked wide, spilling tendrils from its craters like bleeding silk. A sky starless and slow. And on the horizon: a wave. Massive. Black. Still. It creeps forward every time like sunrise. It hushes before collapse, but every time before this, you wake up just in time.

But not tonight. You can't outrun it even if you tried— it comes crashing down on you at last, swallowing you like a gaping black hole. Saltless, soundless, the water devours. But instead of drowning, you drift, suspended in velvet dark. And in that dark, her voice breathes.

“You don’t have to fall with it.
Let me in.
I can give you everything you’ve ever hungered for.
A place.
A purpose.
Stay.”

She offers. And you— your mouth, your mind— give an answer before you even know you’re speaking. Yes.

The tide recedes. The dark peels away like silk. You awaken beneath a canopy of gold, in a garden that hums with warmth and longing. Soft grass. Strange trees. Fragrant fruits in every color, dripping with light. And a mask upon your face, no straps, no weight, yet it clings to your skin like it was always part of you. You don't want to remove it. You could, maybe . . . But it would feel like tearing your skin away.

She no longer speaks to you, but her orchard breaths a sigh upon your arrival. A force tugs at the edges of your thoughts, beckoning you to contact the web you're now a part of. Welcome, Vessel.

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YOU CAN THREAD THE NEEDLE

(content warnings: sensory manipulation )

An orchard stretches around you in impossible directions, the horizon blurred like wet paint. Trees curl and arch with an elegance that feels practiced— like they’re posing for someone watching. Their trunks shimmer faintly. Leaves flutter even when there is no wind.

You are not alone. Others stir nearby, familiar or unfamiliar, though that distinction begins to blur. You may not know them, or perhaps you have the feeling you do even if you've never met them in your life. Either way, you might wish to know them.

From the strange branches within the orchard hang fruits shaped like stars, teardrops, or glass bells. Each one pulses faintly, waiting to be plucked. Their effects are subtle but powerful, crafted to cater to your desire and wonder:

🍎A pearlescent orb, cool and slick to the touch, whose taste floods you with a future that might be: a fleeting vision of joy, belonging, or beauty you didn’t know you craved. Whoever is nearby sees a glimpse of it too.
🍎A silver-veined citrus, fizzing like champagne. When shared between two, it evokes the feeling of a first time— first love, first rebellion, first triumph — even if you’ve never lived it. The emotional residue lingers between you.
🍎A blood-orange fruit with velvet skin, which when bitten into, causes your voice to harmonize with another’s— even if you weren’t speaking. You’ll find yourselves finishing each other’s thoughts, or speaking a secret you both forgot you held.
🍎A waxen, translucent fig, which grants you a small miracle: something you longed for appears beside you, conjured from dream. It might be a lost keepsake. A voice. A scent. A face.
🍎A smooth, silver fruit with a mirrored skin. When bitten, it briefly reflects the dreamer’s true self — not as they are, but as they wish to be. For a moment, others may see it too. The illusion clings for a time, making the character appear more like their ideal self in body, presence, or aura.
🍎A dark plum that glows faintly pink, almost heart-shaped, and warm to the touch. Its juice runs red and sticky, clinging to the lips. To taste it is to be filled with longing— for intimacy, for sensation, for touch. The desire may be gentle or overwhelming, but it lingers, tuned to the presence of someone nearby. It is not mindless. It is focused.

At the center of the orchard is a fountain, still and inviting. Its water tastes like clarity— and for a moment after drinking, your thoughts shape your surroundings. What you create might intertwine with what another dreams beside you.

Sleep does not speak in words. She breathes through the trees, hums through the soil, stares through your mask. Her voice, barely a whisper:

“Thread the needle, My Vessel.
Want.
Want, and see what answers you.”

You feel it,— if you resonate with another, something will change. Maybe the orchard will shift again. Maybe it already has.

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THE DAYLIGHT RECEDES

(content warnings: grief, loss, emotional vulnerability)

The orchard is gone. In its place stretches a landscape of ashen grass, supple and fragrant underfoot, warmed by a pale light that doesn’t seem to come from the sun. All around, a soft breeze stirs the fields— endless, loamy, and quiet. The air smells like soil after rain. It is peaceful here. But not happy.

Scattered across the fields are half-buried remnants: old beds, cracked record players, wilted bouquets, melted candles, notes scrawled on napkins— things lost in the moments between love and loneliness. Everything here feels half-remembered, yet painfully familiar. If a character reaches for one of these objects, they may hear a voice whispering a name they have tried to forget, or one they wish they'd remembered sooner.

In the distance, a shrouded figure walks the fields, unhurried, always just out of reach. Their back is turned, but their presence pulls like gravity. Some may choose to follow. Some may wait. And some may realize they’re walking beside someone else— a stranger who seems to carry a memory they, too, once held.

This is a moment of reflection. Interactions blossom from shared worries, slow confessions, or uncanny synchronicities. Characters might recognize something in another, such as a gesture, a phrase, a scent— and feel that thread begin to tug. Best follow its lead . . . You won't be able to leave unless you do.

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EVERYTHING WE LOVE RESETS

(content warnings: body horror, transformation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, cosmic dread )

You awaken— or perhaps you never truly slept. The orchard is gone. The fields have withered. All is silence now, and the air is soaked in dread.

A still, uncanny plane stretches out before you: rotted soil, stagnant pools, shattered glass trees that hum with an almost-familiar voice. Echoes of what the dream once offered—sweet fruit, blooming things, beauty— remain only as scars on the land. Their pleasures have fermented into menace. The dreamscape is collapsing.

Sleep, ever present, ever watching, does not weep. She has already taken what she wants, and you see her teeth stretched too wide in the shadows. In the reflection that splits back at you. In the soundless breeze with much more bite and possession than the gentle caress of invitation. She whispers, from the shadows between dying stars:

"You said yes. Now let me see what you become."

The mask on your face tightens, no longer decoration. A binding. You are no longer merely dreaming— Your skin may change fluidly, or break down through the bones violently. Your flesh may split, brimming with power, or your blood could burn like lava oozing through your veins. You may even experience it again, and again, and again; a different beast or burst of magic each time. Whether painful or painless, You are now either Token, or Offering. You may not yet know what that means— But your body does.

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EVEN WHEN WE RUN WITH DEATH

(content warnings: body horror, fungal infections, parasitism, loss of agency, cosmic horror, violence, death, cult imagery)

Your surroundings bend and break with growing instability: The sky splits open, revealing a bleeding red moon, weeping tendrils like raw nerves. It feels wrong in a way you have no words for. It sees you. And it beckons for blood.

The dream does not want peace now. It wants performance. It wants pain. And above all, Sleep wants you all to herself. She watches from the broken heavens, humming in delight as you run, as you fight, as you fracture under the weight of your becoming. Perhaps you turn on each other, frightened with what you have become or too frazzled to control yourself, or the newfound power you possess.

There are other things to look out for, though. Creatures stalk this unraveling plane: malformed creatures with mutated faces and fungal blooms bursting from their orifices, or tendrils slithering from what were once mouths and eye sockets. Once Vessels. Hosts. They may speak with familiar voices. They may try to barter, or bite. Those with hands and fingers may try and force your eyelids to part, to tilt your gaze to the sky above you, chanting in tongues that drill into your brain stem. Hushing in song. Whispering Look at her. She is Beautiful.

If you are caught, if you gaze up at Her for too long— you too will suffer the same fate. Fungal bursts and tendrils will spurt from your mouth, invade you from the inside and reach out to her in sacred reverence. It's a horrible way to go. If this is an end you find, you too, despite your pain, may begin to smile. You might have even more reason to attack your fellow Vessels. They too, must see Her beauty like you do.

The song stutters. The dream recoils when you succumb to the worst of Her parasitism, even though you don't lose consciousness. It is not Sleep who speaks next. In your last few seconds of awareness, you hear in your ears, in your mind, in your soul, snarling and thick with fury:


“What have you done?”

The world begins to scream. You begin to fall.

The dream is over.

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NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia’s first TDM! All TDMs will be considered game canon.
➤ You are free (and encouraged!) to experiment with the Tether mechanic as well as Vessel options and the Network to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Mod invited players may currently extend one invite per player. Interested players who do not have mod invites or a friend to get an invite from may comment to the appropriate top level to solicit one, or, solicit one from the mod here. Please keep in mind that soliciting an invite does not guarantee one.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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megumi fushiguro | jujutsu kaisen

[potentialman]

i. thread the needle
[ He was dying, wasn't he?

Everything that happened in Shibuya is running together, one long night of desperation and blood and mayhem. There were fights. His energy had just about run dry, once he'd gotten caught up in that domain clash with Dagon. Then that stranger had put a weapon through him. He'd managed to deflect it enough, he's pretty sure, so it hadn't hit anything vital. But then the swordsman who'd been killing the assistant managers had taken a stab, and that one he's almost certain did hit something —

— and then he'd called Mahoraga. That's right.

Death seems an awful lot slower than he'd always figured it was going to be, doesn't it?

Megumi's not sure what else there is left to do, but wait for whatever nonsense his hazy mind has dreamed up to stop, slow down, and let him go. So he wanders the orchard, pausing here and there to look up, holding up a hand to feel the nonexistent breeze that somehow still has the leaves astir. His fingers graze a fruit.

Well, why the hell not. He's dead either way, but maybe he can at least go with the taste of something other than his own blood on his tongue. ]



ii. daylight recedes
[ Most of the objects scattered through the field don't capture Megumi's attention. He looks past bouquets, candles. Faded photographs. Things that ought to be meaningful to someone, though maybe not to him — or are they? He shakes his head, as if to try and jolt the intrusive thoughts out of it.

The thing that finally catches his notice is a crumpled piece of paper. He kneels to scoop it up, unfolds it and smooths the creases so he can read it.

A receipt from a bet made on a horserace.

Why should that matter? ]

...stupid. [ Megumi lets the scrap of paper flutter to the ground, and turns to move on. ] I don't care.

[ Something in him still feels like he should. ]



iii. we run with death
[ Even without a name for the creatures that are stalking the surroundings, moaning and chanting and reaching to grasp at him, this is still the most sense anything has made since this dream (nightmare?) began. These things aren't curses, or at least not curses as Megumi's familiar with them, but the similarities are undeniable. The sense of corruption, of wrongness. The body horror. The dogged attempts to drag anyone in reach down with them.

Whatever is going on, however he got here, he's still a jujutsu sorcerer.

He knows what to do with curses.

Megumi puts his hands together, intending to make the hand seals for his shikigami, but the shadows don't coalesce into the familiar forms he's used to. Instead, the shadows themselves surge forward, snaking around the nearest creature like a network of vines, pulling it back from him and holding it to the ground, restricting its movements.

That's not how he meant to do it, but okay, sure? ]



iv. something else?
( If you've got another idea, I'm probably down for that too! PM or atkascha if you want to hit me up. )

( ii )

[offseers]

What's stupid about it?

[ it looked like a memento. a memory. long past, brushing against the mind and the heart. mementos were for city-folk, to make up for their lack of husks. they had no other markers for death. perhaps it is the same for this man here. these people, part of nature's cycle. ]

[potentialman]

[ It's a memento that only manages to prick at the edges of things he's mostly forgotten, and was quite happy to leave that way.

"Stupid," in short, is entirely a personal issue here. ]

...I have no reason to care. Not about this, at least.

[ Despite what his subconscious is insisting.

(It was late. Tsumiki's mother was saying something about how it was fine, he was just at the races and he was always late when he went to the races. Megumi had scowled, told her to stop making excuses. Slammed the door to the bathroom when he disappeared inside to brush his teeth.

It didn't really matter. Within a week, she was gone too. Tsumiki didn't try to argue with him that they would come back. She just smiled and told him it would be okay, that she'd take care of everything.) ]

[offseers]

[ noah considers this thoughtfully. after a few moments of silence, he responds, his voice gentle as the waves. ]

Do you need a reason to care?

Isn't it enough to care on its own?

[potentialman]

[ Does he?

Megumi opens his mouth. Closes it. Considers that for a beat.

And, then, finally: ]

I don't want to care.

[offseers]

[ noah falls silent once more, observing megumi thoughtfully. ]

If it were that simple for us to stop caring, we would, I think. Because it would stop the pain.

Is that what it is? Pain.

I - Thread the Needle

[closetdweller]

Hey, can you get one down for me?

[Nearby was a fellow teenager- short, with a young looking face and messy hair that flopped over his eyes. Urushihara didn't bother reading the room. He was a NEET, he didn't have to.

But one at the stranger had him blurting out:]

Dude, you look like you've seen some hell. You ok?

[potentialman]

[ ...well. He's not wrong, but.

Megumi opts for reaching up to snag that fruit instead of answering right away. He eyes the one he's pulled down, checking to make sure he's not just casually handing over something that's worm-bitten or halfway rotten, but it looks okay. ]

...it's been a long day.

[ Vicious understatement. ]

[closetdweller]

Ah. You too?

[Between whatever horrors they were dealing with before meeting with that woman, and everything since, Luci just nodded in understanding.]

Seems to be the case around here. I was just hoping for a quiet weekend with movies and pizza. You think we can find that here?

[potentialman]

[ Movies and pizza.

God, that sounds amazing right now, and he doesn't even really give a crap about movies and pizza. But Yuji just barging into his room, waving a DVD in his face and babbling about the Human Earthworm or whatever it was -- that would be so blessedly normal.

He's pretty sure normal is a thing of the past now. ]

I'm not sure it'd look anything like what we'd expect it to, even if we did.

[closetdweller]

Hey, I'll just be glad if we can find a place with indoor plumbing. Last time I was without, it was a... Different situation.

[Because at that time, he hadn't needed to worry about food or rest in the way that humans needed to. He was fine as long as there was enough ambient magic to soak up-- but this forest? And the way he felt blocked from even sensing the location of his companions?

The stranger was right in saying that nothing was going to be what they expected.

Luci studied the fruit-- a strange, glossy orb that shimmered in the dappled light-- and held it out.]

Since there's no pizza around, you want to split it?

1; jjk spoilers

[assassinsgreed]

<sub>[ papa jumpscare………

He was dead. That much he knew to be true. There isn’t anyway that he survived that insufferable blast of purple, but whatever happened after he bid the Earth farewell, Toji expected his fate to be less than pleasant. Something like eternal punishment. Where he ended up seems to be rather.. nice. It must be yet another god taking pity on him.

The constricting mask feels terribly tight on somebody’s skin who can literally feel the smallest disturbance in the wind, and he did maybe try to remove it with his impeccable strength, but.. no use. Oh well. Now what? Obviously, his heightened sense of smell directs him exactly to the part of the orchard that has the freshest fruits.. and he seems to be helping himself to.. well. A lot of them. All of them? It’s free real estate, and he loves anything free.

He can’t be assed to figure it all out right now; something is off about the food which is why he hasn’t taken a bite out of it. Something else is off— the fact he can sense he isn’t here alone. A simple look in Megumi’s direction— right there, that’s the culprit. Who was he, though? Toji is instantly drawn to him, but the mask covering both of their faces might make it difficult for them to have any sort of reunion. ]</sub>

You should watch more than that. You could use some extra weight.

_{[ not already going into this with YOU’RE SO SKINNY, EAT MORE… also idk how death injuries work in this game yet so he’s got all his limbs and not a huge bite out of his body.. ]}

[potentialman]

[ DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU'RE NOT MY REAL D--oh.

It's not the appearance that sets off something in his mind, but the voice. Immediately familiar, but he can't help but second-guess himself. Only a few words isn't much to go on. He was already running on empty and he's pretty sure he's hallucinating now. It really can't mean anything that this sounds so much like the guy who put Maki's weapon through him, can it?

Definitely his imagination. Who knows what weird stuff your brain comes up with when your body is dead and just waiting for it to catch up?

So instead there's just a very teenage flash of irritation. ]

My weight is fine.

[ Swole and punching through concrete is more Yuji's thing. ]

[assassinsgreed]

<sub>[ Meanwhile, this version of Toji has never heard Megumi’s voice before. The prickly hair does make him think of.. somebody. Somebody who was very important to him— somebody who actually showed him kindness, somebody who he loved, but because of her death, Toji tried everything he could to forget her, especially things that reminded him of her.

Like his own son. That’s what eased his pain away, at least.

By now, he’s got quite the collection in the crook of his stupidly muscular arm. Toji jabs his finger at Megumi. ]</sub>

This is a blessing. Take advantage of it.

_{[ —hah. Blessing. That also is familiar. ]}

Never know when you’ll end up with nothing.

_{[ this is a lesson learned but not retained because he LOSES EVERY HORSE RACE. ]}

[potentialman]

[ The choice of words just irritates him even more. Don't even start on blessings, Mystery Man. ]

I've got no reason to believe any of this is going to stick around.

[ He's very familiar with ending up with nothing, thankyouverymuch! And he's not counting on a dying hallucination to be the thing that breaks that particular losing streak. ]

iii - Apologies for lateness. Brain wouldn't cooperate with me. CW: SELF HARM

[nailed_you]

[He's not the only one that's gone after these things thinking that they're curses. But unlike Megumi, Nobara's got a bit of a different problem. Her hammer and nails? Not working. At all. Though something else was.

This wasn't the first time that she had hurt herself in order to use her cursed energy against someone, but this wasn't cursed energy. It was her blood. She spotted Megumi and moved towards him. Her voice was calm and steady as she held what appeared to be a bloody nail in one hand, her other empty and bleeding steadily but the blood wasn't hitting the ground. It seemed to hover around her hand like small nails. A familiar thing for the sorcerer.

When she got close she threw the small red projectiles at the thing he had captured. Her voice steady despite what they were doing.]

Fushiguro!

[Like her Hair Pin technique the blood exploded with a snap of her fingers as it hit the thing he was holding.]

it's all good <3

[potentialman]

[ It's probably a good thing he didn't see Nobara earlier, when he still thought he was dead, because that would open up a lot of possibilities he didn't want to consider.

Which isn't to say he's not worried that she's also here in -- wherever here is, but he's more relieved for some familiar backup than spiraling into assuming the worst, now. ]

Kugisaki?

[ He falls back a few paces as the creature screeches, moving to her side The shadows pinning the creature pull, tearing its limbs from whatever passes for a torso, and then fade into the ground as he sidesteps around so they're standing back to back. ]

Your technique's acting weird too?

[nailed_you]

I don't know what's going on, but I can't use any cursed energy. At all and it's pissing me off. Its not like when Itadori and I went after those death paintings either.

[That was the first time that she realized that she was crazy enough to hurt herself in order to take out curses.]

I don't know why my blood is able to hurt them, but I won't be able to last for too long before I faint.

[She's not about to ask him for some of his. Not when she's still trying to figure out what she's doing. For now, she's just going to be winging it.]

[potentialman]

Don't overdo it, then.

[ It's hard to say if he's more reminding her or reminding himself; despite the massive differences in their personalities, one of the things that ties the three of them together is that they all have a tendency to go a little feral when the chips are down. ]

I've still got shadows. They're not behaving the same way, but I can work with it.

[ He's not at risk of bleeding himself out, but he's definitely still running on a very low battery, after his clash with Dagon. They're going to have to play this smart so neither of them overextends, because if one of them goes down they both might be screwed. ]

I constrain them, you finish them. [ Her aim is good. She knows where to get the most mileage out of one hit. ]

[nailed_you]

Got it.

[They didn't have the time to figure everything out right now. Once they were in a safe spot they could talk more about it.]

We'll have more time to figure things out once we're not dealing with these....things.

[They didn't feel like curses. They acted like them, but she couldn't feel any cursed energy. She frowned a bit as she kept close to Megumi. They worked well together and she trusted his leadership.]

ii.

[sorte]

Oh my.

[ the breeze pulls that paper away from its fallen position, it tumbles and floats, carried in its new flatten shape until it hits the leg of someone that's not all the fair behind him. The blond man picks up the paper, but even as he goes to lower his rose-tinted glasses enough to read it, he lets the breeze carry it out of his grip. ]

Are we not much of a betting man, perhaps?

[ a gambler doesn't need to read a slip for a bet to know what it is. ]

[potentialman]

Don't see the appeal. Never have.

[ To be fair, he's never tried to, either. As soon as he was old enough to string the thoughts together, Megumi looked at his father, at his absences and shitty behavior, and then looked at the things his father did put his time into, and said: nope. ]

[sorte]

[ Aventurine hums at those words, letting their weight roll on through the air between them. It's not that Aventurine doesn't understand those that dislike gambling— afterall, despite being a gambler himself, such a vice among men is one that's been well exploited time and time again. ]

Most people don't, to be fair. Those that do usually are already too far down the rabbit hole to be able to find its appeal with any common sense. Still, risks reap rewards, and risks taken in life are merely gambles that leave the slots, the tables, and the racetracks behind. Do you feel the same way about risks as you do the past-time gambling?

[ His voice is smooth and fluid in his questions, sounding amicably curious while also giving off what feels like a very deliberate as well as unsettling feeling that he's digging for something useful. (In this case, he's not, but Aventurine will always go out of his way to try and coerce people to be on their toes around him well before ever actually doing anything specifically that warrants it.)

There's a pause before he slowly lowers his rose-tinted glass down his nose just enough his eerie colored eyes are visible as if trying to get a better look at the other. ]

... Should I even be asking someone of your age that, though, I wonder? Then again, I can only imagine you're something special to be dragged to a place like this despite you looking a bit young.

[ ...Actually this kid has the face of a disgruntled forty-year-old desk employee, and Aventurine deals with staring at several of those types every day so he knows a thing or two, but we're just gonna go with he still somehow can tell this young man is a teenager of some variety. ]

[potentialman]

[ He looks perfectly good for his age, tyvm!! It's just his expressions that make him look like his age should actually be given in dog years.

(Like 20% of the animation budget went into those eyelashes, let's be real.)

This guy absolutely feels shady, though. There's something extremely smarmy about the way he's nibbling at the edges, and Megumi is not a fan. ]

There are things worth risking everything for. [ His tone is even. ] Money's not one of them.

[sorte]

Is it really for the money, in your experience? I've never met a rich gambling addict, myself.

[ Unless they cheat or they're Aventurine himself, that is. Even his own wealth isn't from gambling with slots and the like at a casino, though.

This person reminds him a little bit of someone in the way he chooses to slide past the opportunity to give details about himself; although, objectively, Aventurine doesn't think the two could be more different from one another so far. he wonders briefly how likely it could be this kid is protagonist-material, like the one he's being reminded of.

Either way, the Stoneheart knows how to play the long game, and he's not above using a teenager to his advantage in any way that he can. He'll chip away piece by piece until he gets someone if he decides they're worth the investment, and he's terribly patient if it plays to good advantage. Morality and ethics were so last season at his day job as it was, but in this unfamiliar nightmare all's fair. If this kid is truly worth anything to Aventurine remains to be seen— but he can't deny that there's a least the immediate superficial benefit of having a conversation partner. Unlucky for the teenager, Aventurine is so damn experienced at having conversations with stoic dark haired calm and collected individuals with a owls on their faces and not many words to share.

(you're lucky you're only 15, megumi, you're totally his type.) ]